Quantum Gigolo
by Natchez
Summary: When Sam Leaps into the body of a male escort, he has to save a woman's life, but can he do it without falling in love?


Disclaimer: I do not own any part of "Quantum Leap," much as I love the series.

Author's note: This is my first foray into "QL" fanfic. I hope all of you enjoy it. Reviews are appreciated!!

* * *

**Chapter 1: Sister Golden Hair**

**Leapdate: August 27, 1974**

**Los Angeles, California**

The blue light surrounded Sam and he felt the slight impact he always did when he Leaped. He opened his eyes. A phone was ringing, but he didn't attempt to answer it. It sounded like the old phones did when they rang. Eventually, an answering machine picked up the call and the tape clicked on. "Hello. You have reached Jason Strange. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you." _Jason Strange? There was a name for you,_ Sam thought.

A sultry female voice came on the line. "Hi baby. You have an appointment for 10 o'clock tonight. The client likes leather, so you know what to wear. And she's paying top dollar, so we want to keep her happy."

"Oh boy."

* * *

Sam was searching through this man's apartment, looking for any information he could find. A desk calendar told him it was August, 1974. The evening news segment on television told him it was the 27th day of that month, and he was in Los Angeles, California. Well, at least he knew that much. About that time, Al walked through the wall.

"Hiya, Sam," he said, and smacked the handlink he always carried. "Ziggy's a billion dollar computer. I don't know why this handlink is such crap, though. Anyway, your name is Jason Sims and you're in Los Angeles."

"I figured that much out from the answering machine and television, only the answering machine said 'Strange' instead of Sims. And judging from the message the woman left, my host is a male escort."

"No kidding?" Al looked around the apartment. "Not a bad place for a change. What was the message?"

Sam went to the machine and replayed it. A sly grin appeared on Al's face and he puffed smugly on his cigar. "Leather, huh? That's good. Lemme see what Jason has to say while he's in the Waiting Room. See if Ziggy can get a lock on why you're here."

"Please do. I'd rather not have to keep that 'appointment' if I can help it," Sam said anxiously. He had been in many occupations since the first Leap, but was not interested in exploring the world of prostitution — male or otherwise.

"Back in a few," Al said, slipping out of the Imaging Chamber.

Sam looked in the mirror in Jason's bedroom. An oddly handsome face stared back at him. Middle twenties, maybe, with shoulder-length, light brown hair. His eyes had a drowsy gaze under their long lashes and his frame was lean and rangy. His jeans were skin tight. Sam shook his head and looked up. "What now?" he asked of the Force that had him Leaping all over time and space. No answer came, as usual. He went back into the den and watched a little television. He chuckled at a couple of programs he remembered being on at the time and hoped Al would show up.

Finally, about 8:30 p.m., the door to the Imaging Chamber opened and Al walked in. "Hiya Sam. Jason wasn't much help except to give me some tips on what you need to wear tonight."

"What to wear? You're not saying I have to _keep_ this appointment!"

"Well, yeah. Ziggy says there's a 91.8 percent chance meeting this woman will help her lock on to why you're here. So yeah, you've got it to do." He grinned. "Jason said a limo always picks you up about 15 minutes before your appointments. So you're a high-class escort."

"Wonderful. I can't even begin to imagine what I'm doing here, though."

"Go with the flow. It might be fun," Al said, leering. "But first, you need a shower, and use the soap in the container in the bathtub. Jason said the women love it. I'll stay to help you pick your outfit."

Sam heaved a long-suffering sigh. "O.K. I can't believe this, though." Al was just enjoying this way too much. Sam might have been his best friend, but that didn't mean Al didn't like to see him this far out of his comfort zone. Dr. Samuel Beckett was a certified geek, not a male escort.

* * *

Sam stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Allrighty, Sam. I've got your outfit. Look in the top dresser drawer and get the leather g-string."

"The WHAT?"

"You heard me. The lady likes leather. Jason said this is what you wear."

"No, no, no, no. This can't be right," Sam protested as he rifled through the drawer, coming up with a black leather g-string.

"That's the one. Put it on," Al instructed.

"If I ever get back home, I'm going to punch your lights out for this one," Sam muttered.

"Me? I don't pick the Leaps! Now then. Look in the closet for the leather pants and the black silk shirt — the one with the silver threads."

"Oh, Lord. Why me?" Sam said, as he found the items and slipped the leather trousers over his legs. He donned the shirt, tucked it into the pants and buttoned it.

"Leave the top four or five undone," Al said. "You're an escort, not a priest."

"I only wish I were a priest. That would be a nice change," Sam groused.

"Stop kvetching. You've only got about 15 minutes before the limo gets here. Your wallet and cash are in the nightstand. Jason said you should have condoms in the wallet, but to check first."

"Detailed instructions he's giving."

"Unlike you, he enjoys his work and he's protective of his reputation. So he's making sure you don't mess it up," Al cheerfully explained.

"Great." Sam would have choked Al if he had been able to get his hands on him.

"You look good! Jason would be proud. Got the condoms?"

"Yeah," Sam answered without enthusiasm.

"Your ride's here," Al said. "Go get 'em, tiger!"

"Thanks a bunch."

Sam went downstairs and got into the limousine parked in front of the door.

"Hi Jason," the driver said.

"Hi. How are you?" Sam answered.

"Pretty good. Good client tonight. She's at the Beverly Hills Hotel, so you know she's got the bread to pay."

"No doubt."

"Man, did you see the Dodgers game this afternoon?" the driver asked.

"Nope, I missed it. Saw the score on the news, though. Garvey homered in the nick of time." At least, Sam could discuss baseball.

"Oh man, was it ever beautiful! A line drive, right into the stands. Whatta shot! I thought for sure the Mets had it won, but that comeback was a dream! Think they'll make the Series?"

"You never know," Sam replied. For the life of him, he couldn't remember who was in the 1974 World Series.

"Well, I think they're a shoo-in."

"I hope so. I'd love to see them in it," Sam said.

"Beverly Hills Hotel, here, Jason. Room 415."

"Thanks, man." Sam dug a $10 bill from his wallet and handed it to the driver.

"You're the best, my friend," the driver said, taking the money. "I'll be back about 6 a.m."

"See you then," Sam replied. Well, at least he now knew how he would get back home.

Sam went into the lobby and looked around. He took the elevator to the fourth floor and found the designated room. A woman answered "Come in" to his knock.

He opened the door to an opulent room. "Hi. I'm, um, Jason," he said. The woman's back was to him.

"Have a seat. Want a drink?"

"I wouldn't care for one right now, thank you," Sam answered.

"Suit yourself," the woman said. She turned around. Sam took a good look at her. She didn't look familiar to him, so she obviously wasn't an actress or other celebrity. She was probably in her mid-40s, with long, California-blonde hair, and a beautiful face that showed signs of stress and heartache. She wore a red-and-white striped halter sundress and white platform sandals.

She looked at Sam and chuckled. "Well, I see you're dressed for the part. I'm Cornelia Jenkins. Corrie for short."

"Hi, Corrie. Nice to meet you," Sam said.

"You too. Stand up."

Sam got to his feet. Corrie walked around him. Sam felt like the prize stallion at a horse sale. "Nice. Very nice. Looks like Tiffany did me a solid, sending you."

"I hope so." Sam wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. "You've got music playing. Want to dance?" he said. It was all he could think of to say.

"Dance? Why not? You're here all night."

"So I am," Sam said. He extended his hands to her and she came into his arms.

A slow jazz song played and as they danced, Corrie said, "You're not exactly like most male escorts."

"Really?" he replied. "You're not exactly what I was expecting, either."

"Really?"

"Truly. But you're paying, so it doesn't matter what my expectations are."

She gave a short, bitter laugh. "Yeah."

They continued dancing. Sam was very aware of Corrie's body against his. Not for the first time, he wished Leaping didn't involve being able to feel physical sensations like lust. He was a man, and was inhabiting the body of a young man. This didn't do his hormones any good at all.

"Jason, you're a good dancer," Corrie said.

"Thanks. So are you."

"I should be. I've had enough opportunities at the country club, and at benefits and charity auctions, and all the crap you have to attend when your husband is attorney to the stars."

"I see."

"You might at that," Corrie replied, looking into Sam's soul through Jason's gray-green eyes. "You might." She gazed at him again. "You know, I'm not exactly sure what I thought I was going to get, but I think I'd like you to kiss me." She closed her eyes and then pulled back. "And Jason? Can you try to kiss me like you want to, not like you're being paid to do it?"

"I'll do my best," Sam said quietly, and pulled her close to him. He found her mouth softly, tenderly. Something about her bitterness had touched him and he kissed her in a way he imagined she hadn't been kissed in a long while. He touched her hair and felt her hands twine in his. He heard the, to him, audible "click" of the door opening to the Imaging Chamber, but he didn't even look in that direction.

"Well, excuuuuse me!" was all Al said before he left Sam and Corrie to themselves. Wasn't that a kick in the head? Uber-nerd Sam Beckett enjoying being a male hooker! What a kick in the butt! Al chuckled and walked through the Waiting Room. "Your rep is safe so far, junior," he said to the real Jason Sims.

"Glad to hear it," the man replied.

* * *

Sam gently ended their kiss — mostly because he could hear the blood pounding in his ears. He looked down into Corrie's face. Her expression was a little bemused.

"You either meant that or you're one hell of an actor," she said.

"I meant it."

Corrie gave him another of those looks. "I believe you. God knows why, but I do." She pulled away from him. "Sit down again, if you want to."

Sam sat. He looked at her expectantly.

She paced back and forth. "I called because I wanted something quick and mindless. Something just to take my mind off my life for a little while. But I don't think I want that from you. Can we just talk?"

"Sure," Sam answered. Although he had enjoyed the heck out of their kiss, he was hugely relieved he might not have to "perform." He sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

"I don't know why I thought this would be different. God, I've changed since I married James Arthur Jenkins the Third, Esquire! See, he's 60, I'm his second wife, and he now has grandchildren and a new girly-girl. She's 22. There's no way I can compete with a 22-year-old! But I was 26 when I met him, and he threw his wife of 20 years over for me. She worked while he finished law school. But I couldn't see what a selfish witch I was, then. I had dollar signs in my eyes and it didn't matter. But what goes around, comes around. I'm getting exactly the same treatment and precisely what I deserve. I was a whore in all but name, myself."

Corrie whirled. "So what's a guy who looks like you doing in this business?"

Sam shrugged. He had been wondering the same thing about Jason.

"You were here to make it in music and couldn't, so you turned to something that paid the rent until you could catch a break," Al said, having just come into the room. Sam dutifully parroted Al's explanation and continued, "I didn't exactly plan to be doing this, that's for sure." And _that_ was nothing less than the plain, unvarnished truth.

"I see. Well, at least you did it because you needed to eat, instead out of old-fashioned greed, like me. I'm a bona fide gold-digger, Jason. What do you think about that?"

"That you're a nice person who did something stupid a long time ago and now you regret being an idiot kid."

Corrie shook her head. "Absolution from a male escort. Never thought I'd hear anything like that. You're worth your price, babe. Tiffany doesn't know what she's got in you." Her face turned sad. "Jason, I'm sorry I said that. I just talked to you like you're some kind of sub-human merchandise. Please don't be angry with me."

"I'm not angry," Sam replied. "But you're angry — at your husband, yourself. It's not healthy."

"Now you sound like my therapist," Corrie said. "But you have a point. I am an angry woman."

"So divorce Mr. Jenkins, Esquire," Sam suggested.

"And be out on my can without a cent to my name? No way. Can't do it. If he would just do me the favor of _dying_, though...." her voice trailed off. "No, I don't wish death on anyone. Except myself, maybe."

"Sam, excuse yourself to the little boys' room. Ziggy's got a lock on this Leap and you need to hear it."

Sam nodded. "Corrie, can you excuse me just a minute? I need to..." and he pointed in the direction of the bathroom.

"Oh sure. Go ahead."

"Thanks." Sam went into the bathroom and turned on the vent fan so his conversation with Al wouldn't be overheard.

"What's up, Al?"

"Well, Ziggy says Corrie Jenkins gets kicked out on that can she spoke of and ends up on Skid Row. There's a 84 percent probability the reason it happens is because Mr. Jenkins finds she was screwing around with a male escort — namely..." his voice trailed off.

"Me."

"Yeah. You. Or Jason Sims, anyway. So this Jason, who's apparently quite a bit more self-centered than you are, refused to take her in because his boss might find out about it and fire him. At this rate, she dies in 1978 of a cocaine and heroin overdose and alcohol poisoning. Buried in a pauper's grave."

"Oh, my God," Sam said, leaning against the sink. "What a horrible way to die. So what do I do?"

"Well, if you can't convince her to be very, very discreet with you, if Mr. Wonderful does kick her out, take her in. I'll work on Jason in the Waiting Room and see if we can get him to a point where he actually thinks of other people."

"That would be nice," Sam said. "I'd better get back out there. She'll think I fell in or something."

Al nodded. "I'll keep you posted." He disappeared through the wall.

Sam took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom. Corrie was on the phone. "Thanks," she said, and hung up. "I ordered some food. I'm hungry and I figured you were, too."

"Thanks, Corrie. That's nice of you."

"You're welcome." She surveyed his outfit. "That can't be comfortable."

Sam grinned. "Well, normally, it's not meant to stay on very long — just to be blunt about it."

Corrie laughed, too. "I didn't think so. Anyway, your driver dropped off a duffel here, I guess before he went to pick you up. He said you might want to change."

Even pasted-on jeans sounded better than the leather trousers he currently wore. He recalled some of his 70s lingo. "Outtasight! I'll be right back in here."

"Take your time," Corrie answered. Jason was the nicest guy she'd met in months and he was an escort! No surprise. Her luck and timing were, as always, rotten.

Sam found the duffel in the bedroom and was thrilled to find actual underwear, slightly more relaxed-fitting jeans and a T-shirt. "Thank you, God," he intoned as he changed. He knew he could go the rest of his life without ever wearing a g-string again. To say nothing of leather britches. He shook his head as he stuffed the other clothing into the bag and went back into the room.

"I have to say, that's an improvement, Jason. You've got the bod for leather pants, but you fill out a pair of jeans all right, too."

"That sundress looks good on you, too," Sam replied.

"This? Would you believe I got it at Big K? It's not even designer!"

Sam laughed. "Doesn't have to be. Looks hot on you."

Corrie sighed. "Jason, you're just nothing like I thought. When I talked to Tiffany, she gave me the impression you were a cocky little jackass, but so wild in the sack it didn't matter. And maybe you can be like that, but you're, well, you're _sweet_! I just wasn't expecting sweet."

"Is that O.K.?"

"More than O.K. It's wonderful. I've kicked off those insane shoes. Can we dance again?"

"Lady's choice," Sam said, taking her into his arms again.

"Nice to know I have a choice in some things," she murmured against his chest. "Since this choice feels so good."


End file.
